


Bound by blood

by DracoIgnis, Dragon_and_Direwolf



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Vikings, Blood, Blood Sharing, F/M, Public Sex, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Sex, Vikings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:55:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26841007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DracoIgnis/pseuds/DracoIgnis, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragon_and_Direwolf/pseuds/Dragon_and_Direwolf
Summary: Jon and Daenerys are about to head off into battle on the English coast. But before they go, Jon wants to be sure that no matter what happens, they will always be together.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 61
Kudos: 429





	Bound by blood

The night was cold. Daenerys was warm. As Jon pushed into her, he gasped and watched his breath escape in a mist. His hands were at her waist. Her skirts were pulled up to the small of her back. With every jerk from his hips, he saw her bare buttocks flex and quiver in the pale moonlight. Her skin was turning pink beneath his searching fingers - pinching her, pulling her, claiming her. When she moaned, it only encouraged him, and he fucked her harder against the house.

“Fuck,” Daenerys groaned as Jon’s fingertips dug into the softness of her behind. Her own hands were groping at the wood, her nails searching for _something_ to hold on to. The ground beneath them had been frosty when they sneaked outside. By now, the hard surface had been broken by her boots. Mud was clinging onto the leather. She could feel herself slipping with every thrust. _“Fuck!”_

Jon hushed at her: “You’ll wake them up.”

“Then fuck me harder.”

“That won’t make you quiet!”

“No,” Daenerys admitted, throwing a glance over her shoulder back at him, “but it will shut me up _sooner.”_

Jon grunted through gritted teeth, but he did as told - he steadied his grip on her waist, leaned in over her bent body, and started taking her quickly, deeply, _roughly._

Their skin clapped together. The sound was wet and seemed to echo across the fields. With every shove, Daenerys’ body was pushed closer to the house, making the wood groan beneath their weight. Jon could only close his eyes and hope anyone who heard would think them to be the wind.

The feast had been grand. Jon could still taste mead on his tongue and duck grease on his lips. Somewhere in the distance, a bard was entertaining the few villagers still awake. Songs of northern kings and foreign wars teased the air. He didn’t care to listen - not now with a beautiful girl between his hands, his hard cock embedded in her heat, the sounds of her pleasure filling his ears.

_“Fuck!”_ As Daenerys came around his cock, her back arched and her head rolled back. Silver braids spilled down her shoulders, and her fingers seemed to loosen their grip on the wood. She was slipping.

Jon wrapped his arm around her, pushed her up, and pinned her face-first against the wall as he took her with a last, deep shove of his cock. Then, with a gasp, he came, filling her with his seed. By the time he was done, it was dripping down her clammy thighs. He could feel it as a damp spot on his trousers. He lingered in the sensation of dirt and juices for a moment - holding her, trapping her between his body and the wall - before bitterly letting her go.

Daenerys whimpered as his cock slipped from her body. Only slowly did she turn and drag at her skirts, covering herself with the layers of fabric. She was panting. She was sweating. Her eyes sought him in the dark.

Jon could tell she wanted him to look at her. He pointedly stared at the ground, his hands tugging himself away with quiet haste. “That was-” he started, thinking of ways he could finish the sentence: _great, fantastic,_ even _amazing_ \- but he just shook his head and went silent.

Daenerys corrected her brooches as she leaned back against the house. She was still a bit out of breath, puffs of mist surrounding her pink cheeks as she tugged herself into the warmth of her cloak. “Are you scared?” she asked.

Jon just kept shaking his head, quietly, defiantly. He was watching the horizon. A glimmer of the rising sun was becoming visible - orange, and red. Like gold, and blood. It made him shiver. “I’m good with a sword,” he finally said and spat at the ground. “I’ll do fine.”

“I know,” Daenerys said. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know,” Jon admitted, not wanting to hear the question, but when she asked it anyway:

“Are you scared for me?” he had to clench his jaw not to grimace.

_Scared._ It was an odd word. Jon couldn’t imagine any man frightened for battle; you either lived by the grace of Odin, or died to join him in his hall. There was as much honour in life as in death, and fear served no purpose when wielding a weapon.

_And yet,_ Jon thought, allowing himself a peek at Daenerys. She was still huddled in her cloak, but her gaze had slipped from him to the horizon. She too was eyeing the sun. The look on her face was unreadable in the dark. He could just make out her features - the big, bright eyes, and small nose, and plump lips. _And yet, I_ am _scared._

He had seen her fight. What she lacked in skill, she made up for in fury. Albeit small, Daenerys had never let physical strength stop her from winning a fight. She was quick, and clever. At times, she reminded him of his little sister Arya; fearless, and stubborn. Once she’d learned to handle a shield, she was determined.

“I will go to battle,” she’d said to their jarl, her eyes certain and her chin raised. Some of the men had laughed at her. Jon was not one of them; he’d stood in the shadows of the hall, peering at her, remembering her as a small, gentle girl with flowers in her short silver hair. But she was no longer a girl as she asked to fight - she was a woman with long braids and scabs on her palms from training with a sword. She was free, and she could do as she pleased. Who was he to deny her the right to gain glory?

As if she’d read his mind, Daenerys sent him a small smile. “You won’t say it,” she said.

“Say what?”

“That you think I should stay.”

Jon took in a deep breath through his nose. The cold air seemed to settle in his lungs. He felt suddenly cool and restless, and he started pacing the ground before her, walking out the energy building up inside his chest. “You can fight,” he merely said.

“But you don’t want me to.”

“It’s not about what _I_ want.”

“It’s not.”

“Then why ask me?”

“Because you’re shaking.” Daenerys reached out and grabbed him by the wrist, forcing him to stop in his walk.

Jon looked down at her fingers. They seemed small and pale around his hand - _and steady._ It was only then, as she drew him closer, that he realised that she was right. He _was_ shivering. “I’m just cold,” he muttered, though not sounding convinced himself.

“Of course.” Daenerys pulled him even to her until they were standing face to face, pushed close to the wall. Their breaths mixed - warm, and wet, the frost in the air having started to settle across their faces. She reached up and stroked his cheek, his hair, his nape, his shoulders. As Jon leaned into her touch, she whispered: “I will be okay.”

“And what if you’re not?”

“Then Freyja will welcome me in her hall.”

Jon let go of a short laugh. He wanted to smile. He ended up with a sound halfway between a sob and a grunt. His hands dug into her hair, though her locks, down her back. “I don’t want you to meet Freyja. Not yet.”

“Maybe it’ll be Odin then.”

“I don’t want you to meet him either.”

Daenerys cocked her head as she peered up at him. In the greying light from the sun, he could see her eyes; violet, glimmering. Just like the jewels they would sometimes find in Wessex. It made his heart ache. “It’s not up to us,” she reminded him.

“I wish we were married,” Jon replied.

This time it was Daenerys who laughed. She sent him a surprised look. “What difference would that make?” she asked bemused.

Jon shrugged and suckled on his inner cheek. “It just seems like the right thing to do before going on a raid.”

“You never worried about that before.”

“Because before-”

“-I stayed home, yes.” Daenerys pushed her hands through his curls, grabbed a hold of them, and dragged his face down to hers. Their noses bumped. When she stared into his eyes, it was with a determined look. “I know you won’t hold me back,” she whispered, and Jon could hear himself swallow as he looked back at her, “because you never have. I need to do this, Jon, for our village, and for me. I can’t rely on a man to do my bidding anymore, to bring me gold to keep the farm running. No matter if he’s a lover or a friend or a husband.”

“What about a brother?”

Daenerys blinked. She narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean?”

Jon reached into his belt and dragged out a dagger. It was short, but sharp, with a thin silver blade and a black handle. As he held it up for her to see, the metal shone in the pale light. “A brother,” he repeated, “by blood.”

Daenerys let go of his hair and pulled her hands back, grabbing at her cloak. She frowned: “Don’t jest.”

“I am not.”

“An oath in blood is a serious matter,” Daenerys reminded him, her face still scrounged. She was looking at him with hesitation. “It can’t be broken.”

“Exactly,” Jon said with an honest look. “A marriage can break, but blood remains. You will not rely on me - we will rely on _each other._ We’ll look out for each other. We will protect each other. Bound by blood.”

“Under the eyes of the gods,” Daenerys mumbled. She was no longer frowning - instead, her expression had melted into quiet disbelief. She looked at Jon. She looked at the dagger. She asked: “Are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t.”

“I just thought-” The words seemed to die on her lips as she stared at the dagger. There was something in her eyes that Jon couldn’t quite pinpoint - confusion, understanding, and _relief._

Jon reached out and grabbed her by the cheek. As he pushed her head up to force her to look at him, he sent her a gentle smile. “I am yours,” he promised, and he felt her lean into his touch, her eyes closing, her lips tugging up, trembling.

“And you are mine,” she finished his sentence. She took in a deep breath. Then, she opened her eyes and nodded. “Okay.”

Jon rolled up the sleeve of his tunic, and he watched as Daenerys did the same to her dress. Their arms were bare and prickled with goosebumps. They seemed to harden as he pressed the cool metal of the blade to his skin. He felt his muscles tighten, his jaw clenching. Yet, as he peered at her, and she peered back at him, her cheeks flushed with excitement, all he could do was smile: “Ready?” As she nodded, he pushed down and cut through the skin of his arm.

Blood dripped. It ran down to his roughened palm, between his fingers, down onto the ground. Jon barely flinched, the pain like a dull throb in his ears, and he wiped the knife off in the fabric of his trousers before handing it to Daenerys.

Her fingers closed around it. She pursed her lips. He could hear her take a few quick breaths. Then, with no warning, she too cut her arm, the blood flowing red and quickly down her skin. The dagger dropped to the mud below them.

Jon reached out. “Come here,” he urged, and he waited for Daenerys to raise her arm before slipping his fingers in between hers, their palms pressing together, the blood on their arms mixing.

The sun was rising higher. Its red glow seemed to reflect in the blood as they stood, close, hidden in the soft shadows of the house, their eyes locked, their hands clinging onto one another.

As Jon peered into Daenerys’ eyes, he realised that he was no longer scared. No matter what was to happen in the English raid, they would be together - bound by blood, an oath that could not be broken. She smiled at him. He smiled back, and he thought: _May Odin and Freyja feel my rage should they try to pry us apart._

**Author's Note:**

> I've always loved the idea of "blood brothers" in the viking times - tied together not by family, but by choice. What a lovely idea! Even Odin and Loki shared blood once, and if it's good enough for the Norse gods, it's definitely good enough for Jonerys. I just hope they didn't damage any of the beautiful tattoos DragonandDirewolf chose for them!
> 
> Thank you for all the lovely comments on yesterday's piece. I never expected a small WW2 romance to appeal to so many of you - what a nice surprise! I hope you liked today's viking theme. Tomorrow, it's back to modern day - but not for long.


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